A Thousand Suns
by wtsl
Summary: The world ended in an explosion when Sam disappeared. Dean has his mind set on one thing: to find his missing brother. Pre-series. Gen.
1. Chapter 1

**Warning: Strong language (few curses here and there) in later chapters.**

 **A Thousand Suns**

...

 **Chapter One**

...

When a snot-nosed four-year-old entered the room, Dean was the first one to spring to action. When that four-year-old cried, the same results ensued. The older brother's comfort could fix anything.

* * *

A talkative six-year-old stumbled over the foot of the chair and landed, elbows first, on a stained motel carpet. He laughed it off.

At the age of six, the kid didn't cry much as he would two years ago, when the hurt was physical. Maybe it was because he was better at holding his balance, the ten-year-old brother thought, two years ago he would have tripped over the leg twice.

When Sam cried now, it was because he didn't understand things such as why his dad, Dean's superhero, sometimes came home sad and with a wrapped wrist.

He cried when he got scared.

He cried when his feelings became too much.

Dean's heart melted when he saw his younger brother running up to him, his broad smile displaying his missing front teeth.

* * *

When Dean heard small footsteps, he always expected to see the eight-year-old's puppy eyes gazing up at him in a storm of emotion. Dean wondered how such a tiny body could retain that amount of sentiment, when he could barely keep it together when his father came home with blood on his shirt. Sure, he acted like he did, but his masquerade crumbled beneath the black sky.

He wondered if the same happened for Sam.

* * *

When the older brother was fourteen years old he screwed up on a hunt. When his dad went out to grab a drink with another hunter afterwards, he sat down on the current motel room bed, his hands aggressively running through his choppy hair. Before he knew it, tears fell.

He angrily wiped them away, muttering something about being "too old for this shi–"

"It'll be alright," a quiet voice said from beside him. Dean bit his lip.

 _It's not, I have responsibilities._ He didn't say it out loud, but he felt like the ten-year-old understood how he felt because the bed sank a little as Sam scooted closer to him.

He may not have any parental person to comfort him at that moment, but he had something much better. The small hand rubbing his back was greater comfort than a thousand suns.

At that moment Dean finally found the words to describe what Sam truly was; a thousand suns locked inside a tiny body too small to carry their brightness.

Dean wondered what would happen if Sam stopped showing emotions. He was pretty sure that Sam would explode.

And if Sam exploded, the world would end.

* * *

The sixteen-year-old laughed happily at his chubby twelve-year-old brother's retort.

"Come on, little dude, get your ass to class," Dean said, his eyes shining with joy.

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

The shaggy haired boy walked up the steps and down the daunting halls of his new, and vastly oversized, school. Dean beamed proudly of his baby brother. Beside him stood Salma, the ginger girl from French class. When he had seen her standing in the rain at the bus stop that morning, he had offered her a ride to school – half out of decency, half to tease Sam.

"You're so good with him," she told Dean with admiration.

With a blink of an eye Dean returned to his usual demeanour:

A smooth respond from him.

A soft giggle from Salma.

A flirty wink.

A sarcastic comment.

Dean often acted older than he was – than he should.

When he sat in French class staring down at the crumpled paper that was supposed to resemble a test, he thought of his brother.

Many at his age would ignore the bantering between them and a twelve-year-old brother, but to Dean they were the highlight of his day.

No matter how much they might have fought, thinking of Sam would never fail to lighten up Dean's mood.

* * *

Judging by the way his thirteen-year-old grew, he would without a doubt be tall, Dean concluded while sitting in yet another greasy dinner. Height aside, some things never changed with the younger brother. Sam still had a mop of brown hair, those puppy eyes and a thousand suns inside him.

Dean never told him this though. He always regretted that he hadn't, even though it would have been an awkward thing to say. If he knew what was about to happen less than three years later, Dean would have told his younger brother just how much he mattered to him.

* * *

The fourteen-year-old was moody, but that was nothing out of he ordinary. He would question things that Dean did habitually. Heavy arguments occurred in the small family. Not only with Dean, he was starting to get angry with his dad.

Emotions were surfacing; displaying its content everywhere. This time they didn't come out as rays of sunshine, but clouds don't denote that the sun has disappeared.

The younger teen wasn't too keen on Dean constantly telling him that everything would be okay, but when the youngest cried one evening, a thing he hadn't done in ages, primarily because Dean never did, he was grateful to have his brother's warm arms engulf his trembling body.

* * *

When Sam turned fifteen, he woke up with a fever. As always, Dean never failed to take care of him.

With Sam by his side Dean always knew what to do.

* * *

This was why when the younger brother was nearing the age of sixteen and disappeared, and the thousand suns switched off, Dean was clueless of what to do next.

* * *

 **TBC...**

 **A/N: Thanks for reading! I wanted to write something a little lyrical, but only for the first chapter.**

 **Constructive feedback is always welcome. :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**A Thousand Suns**

...

 **Chapter Two**

...

 _If Sam exploded, the world would end…_

* * *

 **four months since the world ended**

"WHERE IS SAM?" The outside temperature might have been dropping, but the room's was escalating to an unbearable level, even with the window open. Dean's face was inches from the demon, the green eyes stabbing the pitch black.

"Up yours!" The demon barked, its voice continuing into the innocent night sky. It screamed as the room started to resemble a sauna. When the bucket was empty Dean forcefully threw it across the room. It pathetically bounced off the floor, it's hollowness emitting a brash sound, mocking Dean by doing so.

The after-effect was silence until what sounded like a sob met the hunter's ears. For a moment Dean thought that the demon cried, but the laugh that ultimately resonated around the room was bloodcurdling.

"Your brother's dead and there's no amount of holy water to fix that," it smirked grimly. The words formed a gnawing sensation in Dean's stomach. _What if it's too late?_ He thought with vexation.

Dean's eyes shifted to the demon's restrained hands. He saw how its fist clenched as it awaited the inevitable gush of water to fall.

Being the master of concealing hurt, Dean could see the demon's true pain from a mile's distance.

He would be lying if he said that he didn't enjoy hurting the son of a bitch.

Dean returned the demon's smirk.

"You know," he began. From his waistband he drew a six-inch knife. The low hanging ceiling lamp reflected the shiny metal. He waved the knife around in front of the demon. "I don't think that you're telling the truth."

The demon merely laughed. His eyes flickered to the weapon.

"You know, you might as well drop the blade, it won't do anything against me."

"Yeah, because you're invincible," Dean countered sarcastically. He took a silent step to the left and dipped the long dagger into his last bucket of holy water that he had brought along. After spending an hour with a demon, resources were becoming scarce and creativity was required.

The hunter pulled the dripping knife from the bucket. Then, careful not to damage the devil's trap, he rolled the demon's sleeve up and nicked one of its veins. A red streak was slowly gliding down its arm. Dean watched as it bit its lip in protest.

From behind him John silently watched his son slowly torturing the demon. Half a year ago he would have been proud that his eldest son could take on this task almost singlehandedly, but at the moment he saw the wrongness of the situation. Over the last six months Dean had undergone a drastic change. The naïve boy who used to look up to John in such awe was barely recognizable – especially when splatters of blood stained his unshaved face. He remembered when his two sons would curl up on the couch and watch Hitchcock movies together after hunts.

His heart ached for his lost sons.

"Where is he? Tell me and I'll stop," Dean snarled.

Dean continued with the small slits up the demon's arm, the holy water dripping into the open wounds. The demon screamed in agony, which caused the hair on John's neck to rise.

"Where. Is. He." The stern, bordering sadistic look along with the holy water dripping from his blade, shattered the demon's previous lies.

"Alive," it rasped.

"I said _where_!" Dean yelled furiously.

The demon succumbed. He roared the answer before another round of water could surge down.

Dean swung his jacket over his shoulders as his father began the exorcism.

When it was over the possessed body slumped over. Dean could feel the coldness from across the room. There was nothing they could do to save her. The door slammed behind the Winchesters when they walked out into the surprisingly cool summer night.

Dean slumped against the cabin's wood wall. There was the possibly that the demon was lying, but Dean didn't want to dwell on that option for one second.

 _Sam, I'm coming_ , he thought and for the first time in a long while, a genuine smile crossed his face. It was small, but still had significance.

The Winchester duo savoured the moment of relief.

They still had work to do, but a load was off their shoulders.

* * *

 **one month since the world ended**

John woke to silence. Something was missing. He looked to his son's bed. Even with the pillow obscuring Dean's face, he could tell that his son was awake. None of them said anything though. Dean didn't say what he usually said.

 _"_ _Sam, turn off the damn alarm,"_ or the teasing _"Wakey, wakey, Sammy."_

When Dean had continued to say those words every morning, the older man's eyes had always become itchy with tears. Now, that he didn't say those words, it made him uncomfortable. More than uncomfortable, actually, it made the dad physically nauseous. That Dean didn't mumble his habitual "greeting" meant that he had truly understood that Sam wasn't just hiding under the bed, or home late from school, or busy doing homework. Dean had fathomed that Sam was truly gone – maybe even forever.

John hoped that Dean hadn't lost prospect in finding the youngest.

If that happened, the pain it would bring would be like loosing Sam all over.

"Dean," John broke the silence. Dean turned his head on his pillow.

"Hey Dad," he responded. He waited for John to continue, but his dad kept on looking at him with this odd expression on his face. He frowned, "dad, you gonna to add something?"

"I have an idea."

 ** _SPN – SPN – SPN_**

The quiet munching of a sandwich and the engine was all that could be heard in the car. Now and then John would sigh and run a hand over his face. The drive was long and he sure hoped that it was worth it.

An hour later, Dean was asleep, his body facing away from John and his breaths vaporizing on the window. Like Dean had ceased his habit of waking Sam, John had stopped flicking his eyes to the rear-view mirror to check on Sam. When he used to do it, not seeing his youngest there was antagonizing, but also sparked rage in him.

The ragged road continued as dusk crept on. Blackness soon engulfed the Impala.

 ** _SPN – SPN – SPN_**

The clock struck twelve the Impala rumbled over gravel and came to a stop. There was only light in one window of the house. John gently shook Dean's shoulder. When his son got to his feet after wiping the sleep out of his eyes, they walked towards the door of the house. He watched as Dean shifted uncomfortably on his feet in front of the door.

He knocked once.

"Got yer call, John," Bobby greeted. He smiled warmly at Dean. "Good to see you, kid. How's life?"

"Hi Bobby," Dean said, his voice tired and finished with a dismal smile. He didn't answer the question. The man in the baseball cap opened the door wider, letting the men enter his abode.

Bobby addressed Dean, "'you tired?" Was Bobby's futile question. He followed it with, "you know where the bedroom is."

The nineteen-year-old thanked him and heaved his heavy body up the stairs.

Bobby turned to John.

"Any leads?"

"Only a hunch."

"Well, it's all we have to work with," Bobby said. He walked over to the fridge to offer John a beer. "Lay it on me."

"Demons." John said. The other man didn't like how impassive his voice sounded. He handed John a cold one and opened his with a sigh.

This was going to be a long night.

After getting settled down at the table, Bobby noted his friend's state.

"You okay?" _My night of asking pointless questions,_ Bobby thought.

"Fine – considering," John scratched his stubble. Truth was that John was far from fine. He had to keep it together for Dean though; he could not let another son down.

* * *

 **four months since the world ended**

Finally feeling well rested, John woke up, his stomach begging for food. He stretched his back out. He peeked to the back seats where Dean lay sprawled out on his back, softly snoring. The driver started the car and carefully drove to the nearest convenience store. When he was on his way back to the car he could hear a guitar riff playing through the morning sky. John saw Dean wide awake in the driver's seat with the stereo on full blast.

"Sleep well?" John asked when he made it to the car.

"Great," he responded.

"I need you to move over."

"No way, old man," he tapped the steering wheel.

"Dean."

When Dean obliged and slid to the passenger seat, another long ride commenced. This time it was filled with pleasant conversation.

Now that the demon had told them where Sam was, and that he was alive, the hopes were high. It may have been dangerous, but for once the Winchesters welcomed the bliss of ignorance. The perpetual self-contained blame game was getting tedious.

When John told a joke, Dean actually laughed.

 ** _SPN – SPN – SPN_**

" _Please_ ," Sam begged. He didn't care that he was drowning in tears. "No more." He recoiled when the familiar nauseating scent hit him.

"You've seen what happens when you don't have it. You've seen what a monster you truly are."

Sam sunk to his knees. There was nothing he could do, no way out. He dignity was already in shreds. He doubted that his family was looking for him – why would they deliberately search for a freak to bring home?

His hair was yanked back and the thick, red liquid was trust down throat. They covered his nose and mouth, forcing him to swallow.

* * *

 **TBC...**

 **A/N:** **I hope you enjoyed the chapter!**

 **Feedback is always appreciated. :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**A Thousand Suns**

...

 **Chapter Three**

...

 **four months since the world ended**

It took two days for the remaining Winchesters to reach the destination.

Dean was horrified when he saw the place. It reminded him of when he watched _Edward Scissorhands_ with Sam just a few years back. He had always said that those colourful houses and perfectly trimmed hedges gave him the creeps.

 _"There has to be something fishy going on," Dean squinted his eyes at the screen as though that would help finding out the 'mystery' of the vibrant colours. Sam rolled his eyes._

 _"Just go with it, Dean." They watched the movie in silence until Dean spoke again._

 _"That neighbour is… I don't like her."_

 _"Shocking, I could have sworn that she was your type."_

 _"You have a thing for Edward, I can see right through you."_

 _"Yes, my scissor fetish has reached new levels," the youngest said sarcastically._

 _"That makes you just as freaky as Edward, man," Dean grinned. He didn't notice how his sibling shifted uncomfortably, or how he didn't respond._

Dean felt his stomach drop in worry as he drove down the street. _The demon must have lied. Sam couldn't possibly be here._ He felt someone pull his sleeve.

"You alright there, son?"

Dean awaited the gothic castle at the end of the road. That must be where Sam was, if he was anywhere around here. Dean swallowed his unease.

"Fine, just thinking of Sam."

 _When aren't you?_ John thought.

"Where do we start looking?" Dean asked his father. John was as lost as Dean, but fortunately very decisive.

"We ask people if they've seen him. Come on," he motioned the direction with his head. Dean followed him, staying close to him the entire time while frantically looking at his surroundings in hope to spot Sam.

No tall sixteen-year-old with puppy eyes was seen.

 _ **SPN – SPN – SPN**_

After asking a few people – _the_ few people – on the street, they went inside a groceries store.

The supermarket was tiny and only few people were there. It had the usual chilliness of these stores, for which Dean was grateful because 1) it meant that this town at least had some normality and 2) the late July heat was driving him insane. John strolled up to the cashier.

"Excuse me?" He asked.

"Can I help you?" The cashier – a man in his thirties with a cast on his arm – asked. Dean was reminded of the description of Tom Robinson in _To Kill A Mockingbird_. Sam had urged him to read the actual book instead of the Cliffnotes, when it was mandatory at his school. He had never told his brother how much he liked it. Dean added it to the list of things to tell Sam.

"Yes, I am looking for my son. He's sixteen, around 6"1," John guessed his son's height. Sam was going through a grow spurt before he disappeared. John pulled up a picture Bobby had taken of him in November… last year. How time flew by.

His thoughts were abruptly cut off by the unexpected response of the cashier.

"Sir, h-he's your s-s-son?" The man was downright terrified. Dean's breath hitched at all the scenarios that ran through his head. Was that the reason for the cashier's cast? John's "yes" was confident and opposite to the pit in his stomach.

"That… _Thing_ isn't human," the cashier continued. He shook his head. "No, no, no, no, no."

"What do you mean?" John asked, his eyes shooting daggers. When an answer didn't come he lost his patience. He slammed his hands on the conveyor belt. His muscular shoulders made the entire belt shake. "What the fuck do you mean?!"

The few customers jumped and stared, speechless, at the stranger who was making a scene.

"He c-came in here a week ago. His mouth was… dripping," he lowered his voice, "…blood."

Alarms rang in John's head, _vampire, vampire, vampire, vampire, vampire, vampire…_

Dean who didn't hear the last part stepped closer to the action.

"What happened?" He asked the cashier. John's face was drained of colour. _What the hell happened?_

"Well, after he started… doing things. Unnatural things."

"What, _Sam_? No, he couldn't have, he _can't_ , do that," Dean shook his head firmly, "not Sammy."

"What _precisely_ did he do?" John asked. The man chewed his lip. No one else in the store could make out what on earth they were talking about.

Finally, the man shook his head.

"You'd think I'm crazy, b-but he moved the, the shelves."

"Are you telling me he used the Force?" Dean said with improbability lacing his voice. He had seen that happened before, too many times before, but it was only demons, ghosts and those damn witches who could do such things.

"I… Yes? I don't know. There were other men–"

"There were other men and you're first telling me about them _now_?" John burst, making the customers jump again. The whole store was anxious of the next move.

"Your son moved a shelf and stared at this man who was already in the store and suddenly black smoke came out of his mouth and I panicked but then other men came in and put their hand on Sam's shoulder and I wanted to run away but I was scared stiff and my arm hurt and they lead him out and, and, and," his run-on sentence left him breathless.

"You make no sense. Sam stared at a de- _guy_ and black smoke came out of him."

"I told you – crazy," the cashier breathed.

"How did you injure you arm?" Dean asked. The cashier turned red.

"Golf accident." He said no more.

"Do you know where Sam went?" John queried, bringing the attention back to the incident.

"The men lead h-him out and I didn't realize, did–didn't see…" John watched as the man struggled with the words.

"Thank you," he dismissed.

"I-I… _What_?" Dean stuttered when they came to the car. The way the cashier spoke was starting to rub off on him.

"Obviously the demon moved the shelves…" John's voice dropped to a whisper, "blood…"

"What blood?"

"He said that blood was dripping out of Sam's mouth."

"His own?"

John didn't reply. His puzzled expression provided a silent answer.

The Winchesters slumped back in their seats. The demon hadn't lied – Sam had been here. Where he was now, what he was doing, what he had done, why… The questions were overwhelming.

Dean wished that he could go back to the day Sam disappeared. They should have listened to the youngest. Instead they put him in peril.

 _It's my fault_ , both the Winchesters thought.

* * *

 **doomsday**

For most people, it was one of those lazy Sundays were the sun was up high and everything had a slow pace, from the people sipping coffee to the hamsters in their wheels. People were oblivious to the things going bump in the night, because nothing went bump in the night when one lived in such a peaceful town, right?

All three Winchesters pulled up in front of the ramshackle that had been abandoned for years. It seemed like the slightest pressure would bring the entire house tumbling down.

"Dad, are you sure that the spell is going to work?" Sam asked from the backseat. His belongings were spread out over the backseat. 'An organized mess' he would call it. Somehow this 'system' worked for him.

"There's no need for doubt, Sam," John grumbled. The perpetual questioning from his youngest son was getting tedious.

"No doubt, just reassurance," the son replied. Truth was that he wasn't even sure if one could summon a witch, but he didn't tell the eldest that. He didn't want another fight after the one this morning where Dean had sided with John. Sam hated when they wouldn't listen to him. They had all forgiven each other, but tension still lingered in the air like a bad smell.

"Are you worried?" It was John who spoke.

"No, I just don't want things to go wrong."

"None of us wants that to happen," John said, "that's why we came here so early, for preparation." There was something in his tone that Sam disliked. Dean heard it too, but he knew what a tough time his dad was going through with his friends.

The tension in the car was increasing. Dean could cut it with a knife. John may have thought that Sam's curiosity was tiring, but their endless bickering was enough to make Dean go off any second.

"Time to check the dump out," Dean swiftly opened the car door and jumped out the vehicle. The others followed promptly. Dean sighed under the clear early April sky.

"Sam, you've got the Witch Kit?" John asked before entering the crumbling house.

"I think Dean may have eaten the chicken bones, but other than that…" he trailed off. John snorted.

None of the Winchesters went upstairs to begin with, in fear that the floor would collapse underneath them. Instead they wandered down the hallway. To both their sides there were narrow living rooms. When they reached the end of the hall, where the bathroom, kitchen and staircase was located, they split up to find the best spot to set up their spell and trap.

Apart from the spoons, knives and bowls, the kitchen was useless. Sam shivered and noticed the breeze squeezing through partly broken window. He went to the left living room to help Dean.

" _Je ne sais pas_ ," Dean said to himself. " _Oui_ –"

"Dean, what are you doing?" Sam's face was lit with amusement. The older brother shrugged.

"Hey, I learned things in French class," his lip curled, "Salma taught me."

Sam was about to respond when John barged in the room.

"You two done squabbling?" The boys nodded like string-puppets.

"Did you find a good spot?" Dean asked.

"No, the place is too tight and the decaying furniture is too big to move. We've got to go upstairs."

The staircase was oddly broad when compared to the living rooms.

"Step carefully," John ordered.

The upstairs was no cleaner than the downstairs, but the place was completely bare. The Winchesters tiptoed on the firm floorboards close to the walls. When they found an okay steady looking place in the middle of the room, they went there. Then they began their spell.

It didn't take long for purple flames to rise from the bowl. They all suppressed coughs.

Sure enough, a lady in her late thirties appeared.

"Idiots!" She laughed. Six eyebrows rose. The trap they set did nothing. "Your stupid spell doesn't work on something like me!"

"Then why are you here?"

The witch put her hands on her hips. She played with the belt on her jeans for a while. A grin was plastering her red lips.

"I work for somebody," she finally uttered.

"Who?" John asked with resilience. In reality he could barely clutch to his tough attitude. This had gone dreadfully wrong. If only he had listened to Sam.

The witch shrugged like her boss was nothing of the usual, like John didn't history with the beast.

"Someone…" she licked her lips in attempt to find the right word. "Hellish."

Many questions buzzed the room, but none were voiced.

"Better do what I came for," was the last thing the witch said before the floor gave beneath the youngest Winchester.

"SAAAM!" Dean and John yelled in unison. But it was too late. The witch was gone and a gaping hole was in the floor where Sam used to stand.

Dean and John nearly tumbled down the stairs.

"SAMMY!" Dean bellowed once more. No answer came. He tried again. There was no movement.

The spot where Sam would have landed when the floor broke beneath him was left with dust and broken wood.

The Winchesters pushed their way out of the house. They yelled for Sam, uncaring of ruining people's pleasant Sunday. Sam was the only thing on their minds.

"Sam!"

"Sammy!"

The sun was still high up on the sky and the birds were still chirping proudly.

Sam had apparently vanished into thin air, along with the witch.

All he had left behind were aching hearts.

* * *

 **TBC...**

 **A/N: Thank you for reading this story!**

 **Feel free to drop a comment. :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**A Thousand Suns**

...

 **Chapter Four**

...

 **four months since the world ended**

The supply was running low.

 _This is ridiculous_ , the sixteen-year-old thought from the couch as he watched the three hunters discussing some issue at the table. Sam didn't bother moving even though the way his head was mushed against the pillow was making him drool. He looked at his dingy surroundings, wrinkling his nose in disgust at the thick layer of dust on the ground. He preferred the other place, the one that looked like a Tim Burton film. It reminded him of Dean.

His chest physically hurt of the thought of Dean and his dad.

He blinked back the burning sensation in his eyes.

The last "hunt" had been a bust. Sure, they got the demon, but everything after that went wrong. The other demons had fled and his nose kept on running. Judging by the thickness of the liquid and the way he felt lightheaded, he could tell that it wasn't from a cold.

Why had he suddenly become so weak?

Maybe that was good, though. Maybe if his power got worn out, they would let him go!

Sam felt a burst of excitement surge through his heavy body. He imagined being free. He knew what he would do first.

The excitement ended almost as soon as it had started.

They wouldn't want him back. Not after what he did.

And who was he kidding, not after what he _could do_.

 _To be fair_ , Sam's sluggish mind began whirling, _it could be way worse. It's not like they're straight-up_ evil _. We eat together, they get me clothes, make sure I sleep in a bed, attempt humour… And it's not like they're_ bad _people, they think they know best._

 _They try to make me feel belonged even when I'm so different._

 _And now when I'm feeling sick, they're trying to fix it._

 _Maybe I shouldn't have tried so hard to run away all those times._ Sam smirked when he thought of the amount of times he had almost made it out. He had been so close. It wasn't like he could use his powers (how he hated that word) on them, he felt so utterly drained after every hunt and they only fed him blood right before the demons came.

Sam's eyelids fluttered, but nobody took notice. He was too out of it to remember how they had punished him for not accepting who he was.

It was scary how fast their emotions changed.

Nobody took notice of the blood that was slowly dribbling from the teen's nose. It wasn't much, but quite disturbing.

The hunter's were still speaking by the table. Soon their voices were rising.

"He's stronger than ever before! He needs more blood."

"We're literally scrapping blood together now!"

From the couch, Sam didn't think about how they were using him. He thought was that he was already tainted.

He rubbed his droopy eyes and slumped further into the sofa.

Soon his vision blurred and black spots danced in front of his eyes. He watched as they softly took over his sight.

 ** _SPN — SPN — SPN_**

"How should I know Derek?"

"Hospital is out of option."

"Is he waking?"

"Sam?"

A big hand met the sixteen-year-old's back.

"Whaa…" Sam groaned. He licked his lips, which were, to his surprise, wet. He blinked three times and looked up at the three pairs of eyes staring down at him. In a rapid movement, Sam sat up. He didn't know how long he was out, but he was feeling great now. Strong, was a better word for it, like he could take on anyone or anything. Funny, he only felt this right before demon's charged, not after a nap.

"Looks like you feel better," Derek raised his eyebrows, his short yet full beard rising along with it. He looked at the other two people as if they knew what he was thinking.

"Much," Sam said. He brought a hand up to his mouth and wiped away the liquid. A red stain sat on his hand.

"Nosebleed," Janine answered the unspoken question.

"Oh," was all the youngest could respond. "How long did I sleep?"

"Barely closed your eyes." That was the worst thing about hunters; how easy it was for them to lie. Adam's chubby, sweaty hands were in his pockets – the left, grasping a small bottle of demon blood.

Finding Sam had been a strange coincidence. It wasn't their intention to keep him, or to use him. When they had exorcized that black-eyed ass in Washington, they certainly hadn't expected to find a lost boy who was at captive. It was an even bigger shock when saw the teen violently coughing up blood. Adam was the first one to run over to the hacking teen.

 _"_ _We have to get him to a hospital!" Adam cried urgently._

 _"_ _Wait," Derek stepped forth. He squinted his eyes, "I know that kid." Janine cocked her eyebrow. Pause. "It's John's kid, a Winchester."_

 _"A hunter?" Janine asked with curiosity. It was a poor kid, how could he already be a hunter?_

 _"_ _Well then, let's get John's kid to a damn hospital!" Adam continued, trapped in a world of worry. His hands ran over Sam, checking for an injury. 'Must be internal,' he thought when he couldn't find any wounds._

 _"_ _Can you stand?" Janine asked as the approached the hurting boy. Sam responded by coughing._

 _"_ _Where's John?" Derek asked as if that was the most important thing in the world._

 _"_ _That doesn't matter at the moment, we need to get him help!" Adam cried once more._

 _"_ _Something's wrong," the bearded man said._

 _"_ _Yeah, the kid is probably dying! Can you hear me, kiddo?" Adam beseeched._

 _"_ _Adam, calm down," Janine said. "Hey–"_

 _Everyone was surprised when they saw how the boy raised two fingers and thrust them down his throat. Janine took a step back when the retching began. More blood came up, but not much._

 _"_ _Is it in his stomach?" Derek's voice was attentive. Things were finally getting interesting._

 _"_ _D'n," Sam moaned weakly, "Dean."_

 _"_ _What's happening?" Adam asked the others, begging for an answer._

 _Derek strode over to the dead body, which the demon had possessed. It was such a shame that the body was shot while the demon was riding shotgun. Sometimes it was as though they couldn't save anyone, no matter how much they tried. They needed a new weapon. Anyway, that wasn't the thing that caught his attention at the moment. He crouched beside the body. Its arm was lying beside it and showed a long gash gliding from the wrist to the elbow._

 _'_ _Damn,' he thought. "Guys, the teen_ drank _the demon's blood," he noted._

 _"_ _What?" Janine asked incredulously. This was unheard of. "Why?"_

 _"_ _Mmm…" the attention flicked back to Sam immediately, "forced."_

 _"_ _Why?"_

 _Sam ignored the question. "I need to get the garbage out of my body."_

 _"_ _Why did the demon make you drink its blood?" Derek persisted._

 _"_ _Take it easy, Derek," Adam shushed. "Alright, kiddo, should we call anybody?"_

 _There was no reply._

 _"_ _The Roadhouse?" Janine offered. "We can ask after John."_

 _"_ _I want to know why," Derek boomed. "There must have been a reason, and a good one, to feed him demon blood."_

 _"_ _We'll ask John," Janine's voice was stern._

 _"_ _No. A demon forced blood down his gullet. Something is very wrong."_

 _"_ _John–"_

 _"_ _No!"_

 _"_ _Why are you always butting heads with me? Geez, I should never have brought you to…" Janine huffed and rolled her eyes, "you can be such a jerk."_

 _"_ _Just because you're the big sister you think that you control everything."_

 _"_ _Here we go again with the 'bossy sister' talk. Just because you can't…"_

 _The bickering continued._

 _Sam tried to throw up again, but only heaves came. He hoped that the blood was out of his system. He didn't want things to end up like yesterday._

 _Sam heard the sibling rivalry near him. To think that it was only three days ago the witch had brought him to the demon seemed absurd. The demon had told him that its boss was waiting for Sam, the same boss that the witch had exalted. It told Sam that he already knew who it was; he just had to think hard._

 _"_ _Fine," Janine compromised, "we'll check on him,_ but _if there isn't anything wrong with him we're calling the Roadhouse. No buts!"_

"Can you stand?" Adam asked. In just four months he had gone from protecting the kid to being the one pouring demon blood down the teen's throat. Something had happened to him. He was now enjoying it. When Sam felt strong, he felt powerful. It was for a good cause though, the hunters thought, they were helping Sam kill the demons. They didn't have a problem using Sam, as they figured that he was already evil. Sam looked normal, innocent actually, which was a barrier.

"Yup," Sam said, licking his lips. It tasted weird yet familiar. It always did. He knew what they'd done the instant he saw the mark on his hand.

How Sam wanted to run away, escape; be free from the clutches of the three hunters. He wanted to run back to his family. There were two problems though, 1) every time he tried to escape, which were too many to count, they caught him and 2) how could he face Dean and John when he knew what he was?

Sam smiled at the hunters and started making his plan. He knew that it could be fatal, but he was too desperate to care. Dean and John had probably given up hope of finding him. Hell, he had almost given up hope of escaping. Almost.

 ** _SPN — SPN — SPN_**

"We know that we're dealing with demons. We know where Sam was–"

" _Was_ ," Dean underlined. "We don't know shit. He could be anywhere, doing anything. He's in the hands of demons, dad, _demons_! Those bastards could do _anything_ to him!" His huge orbs glared into his father's. It was on rare occasions that John's eyes were soft. Today was seldom.

"We were close, we just weren't on time," John put a hand on Dean's shoulder. "Until then, how about we get some grub, sound good?" He smiled warmly. Dean nodded. His mind was swimming with scenarios, all of them more horrid than the former.

The motel room door shut.

The scenarios were now flooding his head.

Dean closed his eyes.

Just a few days ago his hopes had been high, but now it disintegrated at a frightening speed. Thoughts clouded his mind. He hated himself for letting go of hope. He hated himself for insisting that Sam came along on that hunt, which seemed ages ago. It was ages ago.

What if they were hurting him? What if he was suffering at the hands of the demons?

Unbearable grief sent Dean to his knees.

What if, _oh god, what if he's already dead?_

* * *

 **TBC...**

 **A/N: The late update was due to a couple hectic school weeks. Grade 11 is harder than I thought it'd be.**

 **Reviews are cool.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A Thousand Suns**

...

 **Chapter Five**

...

 **four months since the world ended**

It had almost been five months – five freaking months at the hands of ruthless hunters. Of course, these hunters didn't consider themselves as coldblooded. From their perspective they were doing the right thing. Doing the best they could from a shitty situation. They saw Sam as an object for their hunting. A weapon. They could use his ability to defeat the evil on the earth.

Even though they had control over Sam they didn't know what caused his powers, why he needed more juice, why he was getting stronger. The enigma caused deep trouble to the hunters and the affected. Even though the hunters could control Sam, they couldn't control _it_.

What would happen if they stopped giving Sam the blood? What would happen if they gave him too much? Would he Hulk out?

Sam sat on his ass thinking. He did this often – too often if you asked Dean. Questions whirled around his mind. How were the hunters before they found him? Adam had seemed so kind, but it didn't take a microscope to see the glint in his eyes every time Sam sent a demon to hell. What if they had grown up at some shady place and their ethics had been seriously fucked up? What if they lived a tear-jerking life? Other than misusing Sam they seemed like kind people.

After all, Sam _was_ saving people.

 _I have to stop making excuses for these people_ , Sam thought bitterly. He stabbed his meal with his fork. The thing with these hunters, and many other cases, was that they thought that they were doing the right thing and that they thought that the counter party were the bad ones.

It gave Sam the creeps to think this way.

From Sam's perspective, the hunters were more human than him. There was no denying it; Sam had something dark inside him, something unnatural. But then again, from Sam's perspective, the hunters were humans who lacked humanity.

 ** _SPN — SPN — SPN_**

Sam mused his plan over and over and over until it seemed like his head couldn't take anymore and he had to go lay down. His nose felt weird. Wet. He couldn't go on like this.

When he was woken a few hours later, pumped with that invincible feeling flowing through his veins, the other three were ready to go.

 _Fuck_. The single word rang loud and clear through Sam's head. Going now meant going through his plan earlier than expected. He wanted more time to think it through and be thorough; after all, if he failed there wouldn't ever be more to fail, or to win.

But then again, if he didn't go through it today, when will the next opportunity be? What if there would be two whole weeks of nothing? What if he continued to deteriorate and simply couldn't keep going?

 _Now or never._

If it weren't for perpetual and complex thoughts that whirled around his mind like horses at racetrack, the car ride would have been a dull trip. The song dragged through the speakers and Sam only caught snips of Janine and Adam's conversation. He glared to his left at Derek. He couldn't help but think that his beard looked like pubes.

"It's too big a strain on him," Janine said from the driver's seat. Adam was looking out the window. With only the restricting view of his back head, Sam guessed that he was sulking.

"No, it's not." The man retorted.

 _Great comeback_ , Sam bit his tongue.

"We haven't hunted anything else than demons in a long while," she tapped the wheel.

When the car crossed a bridge, the sun set cast a soft orange glow around the youngest. It made him look younger than sixteen.

"Want a piece of gum?" Derek offered casually. It wasn't like he had kidnapped him, forced him demon blood and used him to kill demons... What a friendly dude.

Sam wanted to tell the guy to get the hell away, but the lingering, metallic taste of blood on his tongue forced him to open his palm.

"Thanks," Sam muttered before he could stop himself. Him and his damn politeness.

"You know what's gonna happen?" Derek asked. He seemed uninterested at the moment. He wasn't even looking at Sam. He rarely did. Sam wondered why.

"I'm supposed to go in and slaughter a bunch of demons," Sam said matter-of-factly.

"Exactly." Sam could detect a slight hint of proudness in the man's voice, although his face remained stoic. It sickened Sam to think that he was proud of making him their killing machine.

But if he was proud, why did Derek keep his distance from Sam?

Truth was that Derek thought that Sam was dangerous.

He didn't know how right he was, until that night.

 ** _SPN — SPN — SPN_**

Dean tried to remember an August that had been so hot yet felt so cold.

It had been nearly five months since Sam disappeared at the hand of a witch and had mysteriously ended up at a supermarket in an odd town with demons.

Dean and John had been on seven hunts since they lost the youngest.

The first one had been an easy salt'n'burn: dig the hole, shake the salt, distract the ghost and burn the bones.

The second hunt took place barely a week after. John wanted to get rid of something evil for compensating for the pain of not knowing where his son was.

After the third hunt, a trickier one, he found out that letting go of his aggravation by killing beasts probably wasn't that therapeutic when he was putting his eldest son's life on the line every time.

He knew that they still had to save people though, they had signed up and it was their responsibility.

They thought they had a lead on Yellow Eyes a month after their third.

It turned out to be a bust.

The fifth hunt had gone smoothly.

The sixth resulted in the murder of an elderly woman.

Recovery from the loss took a while, but soon they were back for the seventh with slumped shoulders and heavy hearts.

The thrills of hunts were long gone along with the youngest. It couldn't matter though, not with the burden of being heroes on their shoulders.

Their eight hunt was today.

Today they were going avenge Sam's abduction.

 ** _SPN — SPN — SPN_**

There was so much of it, yet not enough. Just the sight of the thick substance was overwhelming, not to mention nauseating.

Sam lifted the stained bottle and brought it to dry lips. It was weird how he had become used to have people watch him drink, especially when it was something unnatural he let into his body.

When the bottle was empty he handed it back to Adam. Even though he felt powerful, and that the blood was more than usual, he made sure that his hand was trembling. He blinked heavily. When no one noticed, he did it again and stumbled slightly.

"Feeling woozy there, kid?" Adam asked sincerely. The gesture was disgusting, _but only if it's fake_ , Sam thought.

Sam nodded and gratefully accepted the next bottle.

"You don't have to drink it all," Janine piped up, but it was already downed. The bottle crunched in the youngest hand and landed on the ground with an empty thump. Derek picked it up.

If things went this smoothly the entire hunt Sam could escape the gullible bastards.

Sam could feel the strength surge through his veins. No human should be able to feel like this.

 _Step one: check_ , Sam thought. He was kind of startled at how easy it was. If it weren't because of his often nosebleeds, they would never have given him that much. Hell, one month ago they wouldn't even have given him an entire bottle.

"Ready," Derek asked.

"As ever," Sam said without the slightest hint of sarcasm.

 _Step two: fight_.

The place was on the third floor of an old hotel. The stairs of the building were covered in a suspiciously soggy carpet. Other than that it was a decent standard. Funny the places demons chose, unlike other monsters there was never a pattern.

Sam took note of the outer building.

Sam halted for a moment in front of the door with the number '312' written on it. _Should I knock?_ He wondered.

"What are you waiting for, huh?" Adam urged beside him, his voice low yet spiteful. "Make an entrance."

Sam didn't need to be told twice. Before Adam could step back the door was thrown from its hinges. Adam through Sam a look when he nearly got the door smacked in his face, to which Sam inwardly laughed.

The hunters flooded the room with the exception of Sam who lingered at the doorway.

–

 _Sam willed his legs to move faster. If he turned now he would be out of the filthy hunter's clutches hopefully forever, his dad and Dean would ensure that._

 _The two weeks he had spent with the hunters were stretched beyond his stamina. He couldn't stand them._

 _One turn and he'd be out..._

 _One turn and he was down._

 _"_ _WHAT THE HELL DEREK?" Adam cried._

 _"_ _He was escaping!" The bearded man yelled. Sam's jaw felt as painful as it looked; swollen, red and tinged with dots of blood. Derek whispered in his ear. His words were bloodcurdling, "try to escape again," he tapped his gun, "there'll be way more than a silly punch." He tapped the injury with a flat palm._

–

There were supposed to be four demons, but there was only one charging towards Sam.

It thumped and thumped but said nothing. It took Sam a moment to realize just how close the beast was to him.

Two meters.

Almost one.

Two feet.

Six inches.

Stop.

It tried to reach out towards Sam, its cold hands yearning to grab the teen's neck, but there seemed to be some kind of an invisible barrier between them. Then an odd feeling erupted in its throat. It didn't make sense; no one was saying an exorcism nevertheless smoke appeared out of its mouth. _Maybe the other demons_ were _right_ , the demon mused, _maybe Sam Winchester is one of the special children_.

It gave a quick smirk, hacked itself up, and he fell limp. He shook his head, his gaze meeting Sam's. The word 'run' was undeniably clear in Sam's determined, slightly flickering, eyes. He obeyed the teen. Being in control of his own legs had never made him feel more alive. High on adrenaline, he didn't even try to process what just had happened.

"One down, three to go," Derek grunted, just like John would, but it lacked something that Sam yearned for.

–

 _"_ _Don't you think that you're exaggerating a little, Derek?" Adam said. Janine raised her eyebrows, uncertain of where she stood. She watched her little brother's face turn red. She knew that it was panic, although any other person would have read anger._

 _"_ _We can never let Sam go! He'll tell John! Do you know John Winchester, do you have any understanding of how he'll react when he knows that we've used his kid?"_

 _–_

"Downstairs!" Janine yelled. "The fire escape!"

Adrenalin and spite surged through Sam as he sped down the stairs and into the next apartment. His eyes were frantically scanning the room. He wasn't aware of how his body was shaking or the sweat beading his forehead.

If he had to fulfil his plan he had to do it now.

–

 _Sam didn't even have time to see Derek's unconscious form fall to the floor as he was already heading out the door with the hand he hand just used falling limply to his side._

 _The teen's breath hitched when he heard the familiar sound. He knew that it was directed at him but didn't dare look at the barrel._

 _"_ _No one touches my little brother," Janine snarled from behind the weapon._

 _'_ _I didn't, really,' Sam thought but kept it to himself. He wanted to pushed Janine and the gun away from him, but his weary body wouldn't allow it. What it did allow was to fall into a heap on the floor by Adam's fist._

–

Sam knew the demon was close. It was almost like he sense feel it. Almost like it was breathing down his neck. Paranoid, he turned. The only thing he spotted was Adam trying to keep up with Sam. Janine was going through the backdoor and Derek through the front. They had it all planned out before hand.

 _Think, Sam, think!_ Sam ran his hands through his hair making it stick out in bizarre directions. It was shorter than usual, his hair. He remembered how sick Derek was of its length. He constantly complained that the teen wouldn't be able to see. He remembered the choppy pair of scissors. Sam was just happy that it was growing back at a fast pace, he couldn't stand the Dean-haircut.

Sam eyes flickered then stopped at the object he was looking for.

 _Sam, in the living room, with a candle(stick)_.

 _Step three: light a fire._

He knocked the flame over and watched as it caught onto the sofa.

 _Come on, spread, fire, spread!_ Sam urged. He almost leaped out of joy when the fire ventured to the carpet.

Almost.

He watched the hunters' horrified faces when they saw the scenario.

 _Step four: run!_

Seconds felt like minutes. His legs somehow brought him to his only escape: the window. The only problem was that he was on the second floor.

He heard a gunshot, but the crack sounded distant. He turned his head to watch the people run towards him. For the first time in a long while he cracked a smile when an ember flew into Derek's beard. Janine was inches from him, though. Pushing her back was as easy as flicking a finger. He heard another sound wiz by him. It rang in his ear, but he had already jumped.

* * *

 **TBC...**

 **A/N: Thanks for reading and reviewing! :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Okay so this is an AU because I can't restrict myself to the original plot. Please keep that in mind because Sam doesn't see visions in this story and other canon plot-holes.**

...

 **A Thousand Suns**

...

 **Chapter Six**

...

 **four months since the world ended**

The sultry summer night did nothing to soothe Sam's sore throat. The sharp breezes matched his hastening pants. Sweat glistened on his forehead and shone like pearls every time he ran under a streetlamp. A couple of blocks later the different colours from the flashy stores lit the drops of sweat making them look like Christmas lights.

Sam continued running. One foot in front of another, eyes straight ahead. He didn't know when or where to stop – or if he was hurt. When he had jumped he had landed on the first floor's fire escape. The second drop, where he had landed his side on the hard cement, had been worse. He couldn't process them though. Not now, not completely.

Sam slowed down involuntarily. His head was spinning like mad and his gaze kept on dropping. His eyes met his torn jeans. To his surprise, and fortunately, there wasn't much noticeable damage. His knees were heavily scraped, but other than that they looked somewhat okay.

That was until he noticed how much his ankle throbbed.

And how his side was caked in red.

He lifted his hand from his side and held the stained hand in front of in, which reminded him of a scene from Macbeth. Like Lady Macbeth, he wanted to wash it off, to remove the blood from his hands. To scrub until he became clean and not only visibly. But he could never be clean. He couldn't ever get rid of the blood. He could never truly be free.

As he stood on the street-corner finding yet another injury, his ears fell deaf to anything else than his heavy pants and the ringing in his ears. Before he knew it, commotion was surrounding him. He felt a heavy hand on his back. Immediately adrenaline surged through his already frail body.

 _Hunters_ , he instantaneously assumed.

He turned, his hand balled tightly in a fist. The punch hit its mark. Even with a frail body, he was strong. The demon blood was still pumping through his veins.

"Oh my god!" A blurry voice said in the seemingly far distance.

"Ugh," Sam moaned as he tried to force his legs to move again. He had to go and it had to be this instant. The blow had taken everything out of him. He blinked several times.

 _I'm truly and utterly fucked._ Sam coughed weakly. He opened his eyes to slits to see who he assumed was Derek, stand up from the ground. A person was hovering behind him, a person who he assumed to be Janine.

 _Push!_ Sam tried to force his powers upon the hunter. _Push!_

Who Sam thought were the siblings tumbled back onto the ground. Sam pushed himself back up again. He heard murmurs from what sounded like a crowd.

The last thing he wanted was to cause a scene. The last thing he wanted was to use his supernatural abilities in front of ordinary people, people whose innocence hadn't been ripped apart destroyed at a young age. Ignorance _was_ a bliss.

 _No, no, no, no, no, no_. Sam didn't even know what he was denying; the world was spinning before his eyes.

If he just could get his body to stop aching–

If he just could get his head to stop spinning–

If he just could get the throbbing pounding his eyes to stop!

Everything whirled around. The small crowd that had gathered were too shocked and _scared_ to do anything.

Everyone assumed that he was on some kind of substance.

Which he was.

 ** _SPN – SPN – SPN_**

"Dad," Dean nudged his father's shoulder, "dad."

"What?" The older man snapped.

"I think that we should move," the younger man's face was assertive compared to the father's sighing expression.

"What's wrong with my plan?"

"You mean beside having to jump two demons tomorrow night?"

"Don't question my methods," John grumbled.

"Your judgement is off." To this Dean earned a stern John-talk.

"Dean, I know what I'm doing. Hell, I've been doing this for far more years than you have. Now, respect your father and when I say that it's time to exercise the demon, we do it."

"Your decisions are clouded."

"Dean." It was seldom that Dean did the opposite of what John ordered – or even questioned him for that matter. It was something his youngest used to do.

"We're taking all these demon jobs. Dad, they're the hardest ones out there!"

"Damn it, Dean! The murderer of your mother is most likely going to be there tonight. Don't back out on me now, son."

A terse silent followed John's words. The older hunter flicked through his journal, lining the clues up for a hundredth time. He brought a large glass of water to his mouth and sipped rather obnoxiously. It wasn't until Dean sat down on the surprisingly great motel bed that he confessed what he meant by the discussion.

"Dad. I'm scared."

The journal landed on the table. John looked up at his son and his defeated posture. It was rarely that – scratch that – it was practically, maybe even _never_ that Dean admitted to such a thing. John looked at his son. Over the last months he had been slowly deteriorating, waving between good days and bad ones. Now, with the large circles around his eyes, pasty skin, wide and wet eyes, and shaky breaths, he looked as bad as when Sam had disappeared.

"Dean," John spoke but didn't know how to finish. He opened his mouth, but closed it again. He repeated it a few times, resembling much like a fish while doing so. In the end he articulated the one word that itched his palate.

"Why?"

Dean looked up at John, his eyes brimming with tears.

"Can't you see how self-destructive you are? Dad, you can't– I can't–"

"Dean–"

"I can't lose you, too."

John's spine went rigid. _Is this really what Dean thinks?_ All this time he had spent taking care of Dean, making sure that he didn't spill, that he didn't loose hope. All this time he had been afraid of loosing another family member.

Little had he known that Dean shared the same fear.

 ** _SPN – SPN – SPN_**

 _Move! Move! Run! Stupid, stupid, stupid_. As much as Sam tried to force his legs to start moving, they limbs didn't want to budge. He was like a ragdoll. The crowd was still dumbstruck.

"Ugh," Sam moaned once more. It sounded pathetic to his ears. He had just spent _months_ with three hunters and he couldn't even shift his damn legs. It felt like cement blocks were attached to his body for some unknown purpose.

The slight noise from him seemed to finally commence some movement in the audience. People were beginning to advance the teen. Their eyes still resembled plates, though.

 _Can't blame them_ , Sam thought, letting his eyes close for a brief second. When he attempted to open them again, he found the eyelids to seem heavier. He let them slip shut again and his brain venture into dark places. He couldn't help it.

Sam wanted to know how close the hunters were, how close he was to danger.

He didn't try to fight the hands lifting him. He sank into the man's jacket. He thought it smelled of leather and gun smoke, like his dad, or that he was having a stroke.

 ** _SPN – SPN – SPN_**

Dean often wondered what Sam did at a certain moment. At this moment, for example, when he was tying a demon to a chair. Because that's what normal twenty-year-olds do.

"Better save your energy," Dean grumbled to the demon when it showed resistance.

Once a knot was tied so tightly that its wrist were deep red, John strode over to the demon with a thick book in his strong hands.

"Who do you take orders from?" John enunciated slowly.

"Myself," it snarled.

"See, that's where I know that you're wrong. Demons are always like dogs, horrible dogs that'll do anything for their owner. So, answer me, who owns you, bitch?"

"It's none of your business," it barked.

Smoke surrounded the demon.

"Tell me."

 _Splash!_

"NO! –– The boss!"

A smile curled on John's lip, but there was still a long way to go.

Dean had to walk out of the room to calm himself. John and him and had tackled more demons over the last months than Dean had his entire life. There was also something about demons, other than that they were cynical, strong and mischievous bastards, that made them so hard to get rid of. They looked human, hell, they had been human and they were possessing humans. It was all so _wrong_. He couldn't look at his dad torture the demon. It was too much. It may not hurt the body, but it was still too much.

Dean cursed to himself. He thought that he had thicker skin than this. Maybe one day he'd be as tough as John Winchester.

Dean pictured the future – or tried to, at least. It was hard imagining actually getting revenge for Mary's death. To be honest, it was hard imagining getting revenge for his little brother. He had basically raised that kid, always been around when his dad wasn't. He hadn't know what it would be like not to have Sam around all the time until now. When he thought of Sam he felt hope. He could almost feel the brightness of the younger sibling from wherever he was, reaching his chest. Sam never knew Mary. Dean didn't know what it was like to defend someone he didn't know. Sam was spending his entire life avenging the life someone who was basically a stranger to him.

Dean could hardly imagine things ever being good again.

All he could wonder was what it would be like to meet Sam again. What if they drove down the street and, suddenly, there he was staring back at him?

What would it be like to be a united family again?

Dean jumped when the door slammed behind him. He had been sitting on the curb staring at the ragged road while being lost in his thoughts. The sky was dark and juxtaposed the summer heat that clad Dean in just a thin t-shirt and loose jeans. He had looked at the moon. Even at night when the sky was dark there was still light because of the sun.

Now he was looking at a woman clutching John's arm in hope to stand steadily on her feet.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," she kept on muttering in a heavy german accent. Her wrists were severely scraped and Dean swallowed with guilt of tightening the rope so tightly.

"It's not your fault. Do you need a ride?" John asked the blonde.

"If you wouldn't mind," the woman responded and flashed her white teeth. John nodded and opened the car door gracefully for the woman.

"Dean," John called and slipped into the driver's seat. Dean followed.

Dean waited in the car in front of the apartment where the woman lived.

"Is she going to be alright?" The younger man asked when his father returned to the car.

"She'll make it. She's a though one," he said with a stupid grin on his face.

John slipped a piece of paper in his jacket with what Dean might have assumed was a phone number if John were anyone else than his _dad_. He should have known better.

"So, who is the boss?" Dean asked and John's smile wiped away faster than Dean could blink. John's face darkened at Dean question.

"The witch."

"But the witch said the _she_ had orders," Dean said as if the witch couldn't possibly be the head of the demon. He had hoped for almost anything else than this.

"I know, son."

"But how do we find the demon?" Dean's voice was low compared to his usual confidence.

"At Bobby's," John said like if was self-explanatory.

 ** _SPN – SPN – SPN_**

His body slung back and forth like he had fallen asleep on a roller coaster or something. It was incredibly uncomfortable having one's limp and heavy frame thrown around like so, and especially when there was a heavy weight on his right shoulder. He attempted to swat it away but could hardly lift his arm due to exhaustion. Sam slowly peeled his eyes open only to meet an unfamiliar pair peering down at him. A line of worry was set on this person's forehead.

The weight remained steady with what Sam realized was a palm. If Sam wanted to, because of the demon blood still in him, he could remove the hand.

"Who can we call?" The man said. Sam watched as his mouth moved in an almost condescendingly articulate way and yet his words were still slightly blurry. The teen's head was thumping too hard. He tried to look around, but found that his neck was stalled by something. "Anyone we can call?"

Sam nodded while wondering how loud this man was going to yell before his dad and brother would be able to hear, before realizing what the man wanted: a phone number. His mind tried to untangle numbers in his mind. He hadn't seen a phone in months. The hunters would never let him near one. Sam couldn't count on his fingers and toes combined how many times he had tried to grab a cell.

The man continued to look down at Sam with the every deepening mark of concern shrinking his forehead. Sam looked up at him, his expression dazed.

 _Number, right_. He tried to sort up the digits, but they seemed to be forgotten. All that emerged from his lips was a single mumble.

"T'red."

The man's face de-stressed and Sam noticed that the crease seemed to be permanent, although less prominent when his face was lax. He wondered how often troubled this man was that was standing before him before he wondered where on earth he was. He was so out of it that even natural instincts took longer to kick in than they should.

His eyes were frantically looking around, his neck still seeming to be locked.

"Where am I?!" The teen cried, making the man startle. A woman responded with a soothing voice.

"Relax, you're in an ambulance. Now that you're alert, will you tell me your name? Who your family is? What happened?"

The questions… It was too much, there were too many. Sam tried to answer the best he could, but the blood raging through him seemed to increase.

"Sam. Dean and John, only… I don't know," Sam slurred with a small line of pain on his forehead as he was unable to mask the oncoming headache.

The woman's lips tightened. The kid seemed to be alert, but his mind, sluggish.

"So, Sam, right?" The woman waited for a response, which was slow. "I assume that Dean and John are your father and brother."

Sam gave a slight shake, his head still still.

"Are they both your parents?" The man asked.

"No. _Dean_ is my brother. John is my dad."

"Okay, so other way around."

Sam tried to nod. Then he noted the neck-brace below his chin.

"I have to go," he said quickly. He tried throwing his legs over the bedside but with no luck.

"Sam, what's your last name?"

"Winchester," the teen replied, not missing a beat. Thinking back, he regretted it. He should have held a cover. It would be too easy for the hunters to find him if he used his real name.

"Do you know what happened?"

"No," Sam whispered, as that, at that time, seemed to be the easiest answer. Also, he didn't completely know, which scared him. For all he knew, he could be back in the hunter's current home. What if it was all a dream? What if he didn't really escape?

The thoughts came thundering down at a nauseating rate.

"Are you sure? Listen, this is for your own health. If you were on a substance, could you please inform us which one?" The man asked.

Sam raised his eyebrow.

"You know, drug, dope, whatever you young people call it nowadays," he grinned.

Sam didn't know how to respond. He was horribly offended that this man not only thought that he was on a drug, but thought that Sam didn't know what the word 'substance' meant. He was attacking his intelligence while trying to 'blend in with the youngsters.'

"We're going to run a blood test at the hospital, which is the first thing we do when someone with your symptoms," he chose his words delicately, "arrives to our hospital. Now that you're awake, if you just told us–"

"I'm not on any substance." Sam's words were strong in contrast to his feeble movements.

"I'm only asking because of the way you were acting up. Your ankle is severely twisted and something grazed your side deeply. It will require stitches."

 _The second bullet_ , Sam thought.

"Let me go!" Sam voiced. The woman faced the teen directly, her long black braids that she had up in a ponytail almost hit him with the speed she turned at.

"Why are you in such a hurry? Is somebody after you?"

A desert spread in Sam's mouth. _Yes!_ His mind screamed, but his arid tongue wouldn't budge. A nagging in the back of his brain stopped him. He sat numbly as he contemplated on the consequences.

They'd keep him in here if he told the doctor the truth. They were already going to test his blood. If he told the man about the hunters they would maybe find them and they'd end up in prison, which seemed great, but then again, what if they were doing the right thing? What if Sam _was_ evil? He already had all the demon blood pumping through his veins...

"No, nobody's following me." Both the man and woman synchronously cocked an eyebrow. Their patient had been considering that question for quite a while.

"And you're positive that you aren't on any substance."

 _Not the kind you mean._

Sam closed his eyes and planned a second and speedy escape. The problem about it, about everything, was that he didn't know much about withdrawal from demon blood.

* * *

 **five months since the world ended**

"Orbs like fire,

Soul like stone,

It lurks in the dark,

Makes folks cry for home.

With a cut and a flame,

It emits sorrow,

Over the heaps of bodies,

With its frightful shadow."

The elder Winchester's breath hitched. He immediately knew whom the witch was riddling about. Soon, he was going to avenge for the absence of two loved ones.

 **A/N: Why isn't there a proofreading-fairy? Writing and editing is so much fun, but proofreading is such a drag and takes so long... And there are probably still mistakes, which I apologize profusely for. I also apologize for my horrid riddling-skills (during this holiday I've watched from the first Hobbit film to the last Lord of the Rings film and things sort of got out of hand).**

 **Anyway... Thank you for reviewing! :D**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: What is time?**

 **Okay I was taking a writing course, read a ton of books and I'm writing an original work (I'm up on 35.000 words and going strong, yay).**

 **I hope you enjoy this chapter.**

* * *

 **A Thousand Suns**

...

 **Chapter Seven**

...

 **five months since the world ended**

As Sam lumbered his way through the twisted trees, he was aware of two things:

1) It was four am and,

2) He did not have any shirt on.

The latter was a result of the rash escape from, as society called it, 'safety'. Of course, with the Winchesters, when something was considered normal to the clueless public, or in this case safe, the family were alien to it.

Back to the shirt and why his nipples were going hard: in the haste he hadn't managed to clear his mind and had left his shirt behind along with his socks. He regretted it as he was bound to have blisters, and when the branches and twigs of the merciless forest scratched and poked him.

Sam had never been one for camping. His first non-spirit hunt took place in a forest. He begrudgingly remembered how the trees were practically hugging one another, making it almost impossible for the three men to see the creature. Almost. Sam had been the first one to spot the fleeting shadow of the monster. With his bony fingers, he had nudged the rim of Dean's shirt, indicating his older brother to shoot the beast. The shot had rung in their ears. The monster languished enough for John to end the creature with fire.

As Sam recklessly ran through the forest, he wondered what his family's latest hunt had been. Even with Sam out of the picture, the youngest was certain that his father was still tracking Mary's killer down. Sam speculated over the possibility that the older family members had already found the demon. He wondered if they had stopped hunting after that. If that was the case, then there was an even lesser chance that they were looking for Sam, the boy concluded.

Sam was breathless, his skin was red and puffy, and he could not tell if he was bleeding. He slowed down a little, feeling a little safer with the distance he had put between him and the road.

He huffed at the ludicrously of feeling safe in the forest, when he knew what was out there.

As Sam slackened, he started questioning if he ever truly believed that his father would get his revenge, if there had always been a nagging at the back of his mind telling him that the hunts, their _lives_ , had been a futile attempt at retaliation. He doubted his father would ever be satisfied if or when they had found and killed Mary's murderer. Sam bowed his head. His contradicting thoughts swarming around his weary mind was too much to handle.

 _Dean and dad aren't looking for me_ , Sam thought, his eyes burning as the situation caught up to him bit by bit. The back of his mind told him that no one was searching for him. He thought back to the night when he had escaped the hunters' grubby clutches. In retrospect, he wished that he had made a smoother exit, even though seeing Derek's beard catch fire had been amusing. Still, it had been hurtful, but to whom he did not know.

Sam felt his self-esteem stoop even lower.

The teen halted completely when he felt a strong tug on his side. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment until tears sprung from their ducts. He remembered a man's blurry words, telling him that he required stitches. Sam gingerly ran a hand over his side, the one that had hastily been bandaged in the ambulance.

He could feel the skin heeling beneath it with every breath he took.

Sam blinked. His mind was too busy pondering whether the rapid recovery had something to do with the demon blood to notice the dark spots clotting his gaze. He knew it was a miracle that the injuries from the fall hadn't been more severe.

Sam stretched his wounded ankle out before him before sliding down a thick tree trunk, taking a well-deserved break. His ankle throbbed, but the pain had subdued. Actually, his entire body thumped without pain.

Sam closed his eyes. His head pounded with every heartbeat.

So he hit his skull against the trunk.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Sam's eyes fluttered open and he fought to remain them open. The black spots were gone but he watched as his surroundings swum before him. He laughed emptily. It lasted for a while – and it stopped abruptly.

An overwhelming urge to lie down had enthralled him. Sam padded the ground around him to feel if it was dry. He swiftly shook his head in attempt to snap back to reality.

Sam's stomach rolled from the head rush from standing too fast. He tried to remember how long it had been since he had had a bite to eat, and more importantly, had something to drink.

Sam plodded forward, heavily preferring his uninjured leg. His dehydration was causing him to be delirious. _It has to be dehydration, nothing else_ , he told himself. He wondered when he'd hit the next town, if he'd ever hit civilization again. He hadn't thought about that before venturing into the wilderness.

He wondered when he'd get a chance to get some food – he looked down himself – and a shirt. He fantasized that someone in the next town would offer it to him out of kindness.

 _So this is what I, a "Winchester", have come to: begging for help from the nearest stranger?_ Sam staggered forward.

 _"Really? You're dwindling to the point of pleading? Pathetic,"_ Dean's voice seethed from beside Sam who snapped around only to find more branches. Sam continued his trek although he was positive that it had been Dean's voice. But Dean was angry so he had to leave.

 _"Found him_!" Adam's shrill voice echoed through the forest. Again, Sam didn't see anyone. Nevertheless, he sped up.

(The trees were shrinking around him) or so it seemed to Sam, who sat down (in reality he collapsed). Everything was spinning (everything was motionless). Sam yelled for the voices to stop (a pitiable cry). Everything was quiet (nothing had changed).

Sam had never felt so forlorn.

 ** _SPN – SPN – SPN_**

"I'll make you a deal," the witch snarled. "One, and only one of your desires will be granted: I'll bring your beloved Sammy back, _or_ ," the witch stressed the last word, having the Winchesters dangling from her manicured fingernails, "I will bring you the vicious, as you call him, 'Yellow Eyes'." A grim smile stretched across the witch's face.

"Both," John's demand was firm.

"That it not an option," the witch laughed, "you arrogant, self–"

"Both or I'll kill you," John barked.

"Stupid boy." The witch clicked her tongue. "If you kill me, neither will happen."

"Sam," Dean cut in. His choice did not missing a beat. To Dean there were two stark options: the sun or eternal darkness.

In the same second Dean uttered the name, John had turned to him, remorse written all over his features.

"Dean, the likelihood of Sam being alive…" John trailed off. His son's face was blur because the wetness in his eyes. John turned to the witch, going from gentle to aggressive in mere seconds. "Is he alive?" John requested an answer. She threw her hands in the air.

"Too many questions!" The witch howled. "Do you want Sam or do you want to avenge the death, maybe death _s_ , of your family? What it be, tough guy?" She giggled playfully, causing the men's throats to crawl; the witch thought Sam's life, _their_ lives, was a game.

"Sam," Dean repeated even though he was not being addressed. It was as though the that syllable was the sole word of his vocabulary. It might as well have been. To Dean, it was the only word with meaning behind it, and meaning was so hard to find.

The witch drilled her eyes into John's. He gave a curt nod. The two exchange threatening words as John tore the spell between them and she disappeared.

There was nothing else to do for John and Dean than to sit and wait.

 ** _SPN – SPN – SPN_**

Sam continued through the forest with no disturbances – yet.

The forest became darker the farther he ventured through it. Sam felt like the branches were trying to swallow him whole.

 _Even nature is against me_ , Sam thought grimly. He wished that dawn would begin to shed its first tears of joy soon.

Then the first disturbance arrived.

Because Sam was, or had been (he wasn't sure anymore), a hunter, his ability to pick up on when he was being watched was strong, and at this moment, he felt eyes on him. In a rash attempt of shaking them off, he hurled through a bush.

It made matters worse; now he felt that the eyes were in abundance.

 _The hunters_. Right then, Sam thought about giving up. He had to force his body to resist not curling into a ball on the forest floor and weep.

What drogue him out of it was a scent of burning wood – the second disturbance.

Dread devoured the teen in one take. He could not believe it. He could not even being to fathom how this miserable mess had started. As if things could not get worse, yet here he was, watching the forest catch fire.

The young boy watched as the flames licked the forest floor, getting stronger with every bite.

The fire was building an army.

Sam whisked around – only to find more flames.

 _This is how I'm going to die_ , he concluded. _After escaping the clutches of people_ twice _I'm going to be burned alive_. He swallowed at the even darker thought: _The Winchester way of death._

Not having a clue about what to do, Sam walked around in circles, growing dizzier and dizzier with every step. The smoke and heat grew more and more intense.

He wondered when the fire would catch up to him. It couldn't be long.

He wondered if he could escape. But he didn't try. Sam was too injured and too tired.

The orange flames stood in stark contrast with the dark forest behind them. It was beautiful.

It looked like dawn.

An entire minute passed before Sam realized that he was standing, unharmed by the fire. He took a few steps backwards and reached for the nearest tree. The bark was cold. He then realized that it was the heat was carried by the smoke, which had snared itself in the air.

He did not doubt for a second that this was something supernatural. Nor did he flinch at the black silhouette standing in the midst of the flames.

 _A witch_ , Sam thought sluggishly. He blinked. Then it struck him that it was _the_ witch _._

"What do you want?" Sam surprised himself when his voice came out strong and laced with sassiness. Dean would have been proud.

The shadow advanced, the only clearness was her face.

Sam's expression remained stone. In that moment his brain shut down. How was he supposed to process that he was standing in a ring of fire and that the witch that had begun this hell was advancing on him? He did not think about his disheveld appearance, that he was top half naked. All he did, all it seemed he could do, was watch the witch with an odd calmness.

When her hand reached out to him, Sam did nothing to stop her.

When he collapsed on hard, manufactured wood, the witch was gone.

 ** _SPN – SPN – SPN_**

 _Thump!_

The sound of a body dropping onto the ground was a distinct noise in the Winchester household.

Sam lay deathly still. His bare back bore long scratches and his soggy jeans were torn and bloody.

The youngest attempted to raise his head, but his head felt like it weighed a ton. It was when Sam slowly uncurled himself that his family burst to action.

"Sammy," John was the first to speak. He looked down at his son and hated what he saw. Sam looked like a squashed fly. "Sammy," John tried again, shaking the boy's shoulder. Although Sam's glassy eyes were wide open, they were not looking at his father, but unfocused at the wall behind him. "Son," John noticed the way his voice trembled. Scenarios of why Sam wasn't responding flooded his mind. He kept on staring at his kid, yearning a reaction.

While John struggled to get a reaction, Dean was busy looking for injuries on his brother's body. It was hard with his cloudy vision. John watched Dean check his sibling for any mark of harm. He was stunned that he hadn't thought of it first. He couldn't bare the thought of Sam bleeding out while he was codling over him.

A baritone voice broke the trance:

"What's going on?" The words leaned towards confusion, but they sounded coherent and just perfectly _Sam_.

Dean placed his face in Sam's eyesight.

"Hey little brother," Dean grinned. "Can you stand?"

 ** _SPN – SPN – SPN_**

The water might have been tepid, but for Sam it was blissful.

Dean tousled his brother's hair. Just like he had always done. He noticed its choppiness and its lack of length, but did not ask into it. He noted Sam's soggy jeans that weren't hand-me-down from him. It was obvious that Sam had gone through a growing spell while he was gone.

Dean did not ask where he had been. Not yet.

Instead the men gently lifted Sam up on two legs and went to the Impala. Dean disinfected Sam's wounds, wincing more than Sam as he did so, and handed his brother his old duffle. Sam thanked him.

In the Impala the silence was comforting. Wholesome. Ever so often John flicked his eyes to the rear-view mirror to see if Sam still was there. Dean kept his eyes on his brother's sleeping form. His chest fluttered.

Dean smiled.

 ** _SPN – SPN – SPN_**

The desk lamp emitted a soft, orange glow in the corner of the room. From where Janine stood, she could only see the unharmed side of Derek's now beardless face.

"He'll hurt someone else if we don't find him," the woman frowned.

"Don't you think I know that!" Derek yelled. He slammed his fists onto the desk. The lamp jumped and flickered.

"Guys," Derek spoke up from behind them. "We found him through the witch, so let's find her."

" _Let's_ ," Derek spat, " _Let us_ do this, we _shall_ do this." He shook his head. "We do not take orders from you!" The former-bearded man barked.

"Derek," Janine whispered, "he has a point."

It was then Derek turned to face Adam and Janine got a good look at his right side of his face. The scars from the burn curled and overlapped the skin numerous times. She quickly shifted her eyes. Her blood boiled at the thought of the monster that had done it to him.

 ** _SPN – SPN – SPN_**

The lights were turned off in the motel room. John slept on the couch so that the brothers could have a bed each. Normally the brothers shared, but John supposed that after Sam being lost for five months, he'd like a bit of privacy to process what had happened. He did not know who Sam trusted. Sam did not even know himself.

Dean's words from the forest resonated in his head: " _Really? You're dwindling to the point of pleading? Pathetic."_

The men had elevated Sam's legs on a pillow because of the damage inflicted upon them. It barely took two seconds before Sam was out. Without thinking, John walked over to Dean and pulled him into a warm hug. Then the men slipped into bed themselves.

At two am Sam woke. He was dizzy and in need of protection. This time, for the first time in five months, he knew just where to find it. In his half-asleep state, he had forgotten all his doubts about Deans. His limbs were slothful as he sat up in bed. His pains were gone except for his headache. Sam ignored it and tiptoed over to Dean's bed. He slipped in next to his brother.

"Thank you for finding me, Dean," Sam whispered. He closed his eyes, trying not to focus of the throbbing behind his eyes. Right before he fell asleep, he heard an answer:

"My pleasure, little bro'."

* * *

 **TBC...**

 **Thank you for hanging on while I was away.**

 **I really appreciate reviews!**


End file.
